My week has been so crazy that somebody might need to call me a doctor.
Or, you know, 11.
But, more to that in a minute. First off, by the time you are reading this, Thanksgiving will have gone. And, if you are still alive, kudos! I’m proud of you. You undoubtedly just ate enough calories to feed a small village. Or one of those devilish hippos from Hungry Hungry Hippos (For those of you unfamiliar with that reference, just know that those hippos are really, really, hungry. Like alarmingly so) and yet here you are, reading this. Sit back, relax, and I’ll spin you a tale, dear readers, to distract you from whatever your current gastronomical situation is. I, for instance, have eaten so much pie that I am literally incapable of any movement besides lifting a fork full of pie from my plate to my mouth and back again; which of course is only furthering the problem. It’s a vicious cycle, guys.
Anyways, onto the important stuff! Like I mentioned, this week was crazy. It went by in a haze of anticipation, emotion, and a healthy dose of panic. As we near (lowers voice to a whisper so as not to startle any student nearby)…finals week, my schedule has been packed. I have about a thousand different things to do before this semester turns into nothing but a distant memory, including 3 essays and a chunk of poetry. But, readers, you must understand this: I can always, always, make time to party.
Now, before my mom reads this and starts to worry, I’ll explain.
I had two parties to look forward to this week. One was a glorified birthday party for a 1200 year old alien and the other was basically just a normal class period but with added chips and salsa. I know, I know. I live a very James Bond-esque risky and wild life. But they were parties none the less and I was giddy.
For Monday’s festivities, I headed to Boise’s Edward’s Theatre with a bunch of other C of I students for the 50th anniversary of one of my favorite shows ever, Doctor Who. It also, in an unfortunate and morbid coincidence, was the 50th anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s assassination. So…yeah, that was a little bit of a mood killer. But, we tried not to let it get us down too much. The other C of I students and I have been planning this for months! We’re all part of a group on campus, united simply for our love of all things Doctor Who. We even have a Facebook page. We take our TV fandoms very seriously here at The College of Idaho.
Anyways, so we all left for a night that promised to be the nerdiest, most awesome birthday party in history (Boom! Take that, Einstein’s 75th b-day bash). And it was. The theatre was packed, everyone was dressed up in costumes that were clearly homemade, some held together by only duct tape and prayers by the end of the night, and the excitement was elevated to an almost tangible level. It was so great.
Tuesday, I took the day off. I went to the one class I have in sweatpants. Sweatpants. If you ever see me in sweatpants, readers, don’t approach me. Don’t make eye contact with me and just do your best not to even think about me. If I wear sweatpants it means that I am 1701% done with whatever life is throwing at me and am so already mentally in my bed. It’s a sight not meant for the faint of heart, I assure you.
So Wednesday, I started my day (sans sweatpants) with a spring in my step and song in my heart. That song was the siren’s sweet melody of Thanksgiving, calling to me. All I had to do was make it through Wednesday and I’d be home. Unfortunately, on Wednesdays I don’t get out of class until 6:30. But, plot twist! I was actually looking forward to being stuck at school for that long.
Flash back to two weeks ago. My poetry professor sits, telling us we need to show up to the class before Thanksgiving break or she’s going to hulk-out on us and flip every table over (I’m pretty sure that’s what she said. My memory is historically not known for its accuracy). So we devised a plan to make sure that all 19 students showed up for the 3 hour class before Thanksgiving: Let’s throw a party.
So we did.
Well, really, instead of just reading poems for three hours we read poems for three hours while enjoying the various food people had brought it. Hey, college students love food, so it was the best party some of them had been to in a while. Finally, after the pseudo-party in poetry, I was free to go home for a long weekend.
For the last few days, I haven’t let the thought of my numerous deadlines send me into a panic. Instead, I’ve eaten way too much and watched too much crappy daytime TV. Ah, home.
Enjoy your week readers,
Ashley A. Miller
Ashley is a sophomore Creative Writing major from Payette, ID.